


A Brighter Future

by Sholio



Category: The Expanse (TV)
Genre: Between Seasons/Series, Developing Friendships, Gen, New Years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:15:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28472241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sholio/pseuds/Sholio
Summary: He found her up at the railing, looking down into the drum of the newly christened Medina Station. New Year's ficlet set between seasons three and four.
Relationships: Klaes Ashford & Camina Drummer
Comments: 25
Kudos: 49





	A Brighter Future

**Author's Note:**

> This is my 2020 New Year's story, something I've done for the past few years. Previous years:
> 
> • [2016 (Agent Carter ficlet)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5742253/chapters/22229390)  
> • [2017 (Agent Carter ficlet)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5742253/chapters/30256950)  
> • [2018 ("Ball Drop in Times Square", Iron Fist)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17253290)  
> • [2019 ("A Hundred Thousand Miles", Iron Fist)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22057090)
> 
> Happy New Year!

He found her up at the railing, looking down into the drum of the newly christened Medina Station. It was a breathtaking view, not the staggering grandeur of the stars or Jupiter's gravity well, but something smaller and simpler and, at the same time, more vast. A tribute to all that the Belters could build, and do, and be.

In the past few weeks, she had graduated from the mech legs to a brace that encased her back and legs, extending down to the magboots on her feet. From the way she was standing, she must be in a lot of pain, especially here in the gravity of the spinning drum. He was as sure of it as he was sure that she wouldn't appreciate to have it pointed out.

The young were so resilient. He still struggled with shortness of breath. It would never have taken him this long to recover from a relatively simple injury when he was Camina's age. Still, he wasn't sure if he could have done what she had done even when he was that age. Maybe every generation had to surpass the old, reaching farther and higher. It was what had gotten humanity to the stars, after all.

He rested the bottle and glasses on the railing. Camina didn't jump or flinch; she had known he was there. She only glanced at him and raised an eyebrow.

"Ten minutes to new year," he said. He held out one of the two empty glasses. After a moment, Camina took it.

"All the inner things we leave behind," she said, on a sigh. "And their nonsense calendar, for a planet we will never stand on, is one of those things we drag to the stars."

"Have to keep time somehow," Klaes pointed out philosophically.

"You come here to bring me your words of wisdom?" But there was no cutting edge to it. He wasn't sure when, exactly, that sharp edge had blunted a little—not soft, never that, but no longer a blade aimed at his throat. He had no doubt she could hone it again at a moment's notice if she felt threatened, but she _didn't_ think him a threat, and after all that had happened between them, he found that interesting.

"No," he said. "I come here to bring you fine brandy from my personal stash to toast the turn of year."

This got the slightest quirk of a smile, as good as a belly laugh coming from her. She held the glass out as he poured. 

Gravity was good for some things, and the inners did have a few things right. A toast didn't feel quite right when it was sipped from bulbs in zero gee. When both glasses held their measure, she held hers up, but Klaes shook his head.

"We wait 'til turn of clock to drink, ke?"

"Tradition," Camina snorted. But she didn't drink.

It was peaceful up here, in a strange, lonely way. Voices echoed up from below, clatters of equipment and metal on metal, but there was no one close enough to hear a quiet conversation on the balcony. He wasn't used to ships and stations that were big enough to find solitude beyond rare moments snatched in maintenance tubes and cargo holds. People living on top of people was the Beltalowda way. The former _Behemoth_ , rechristened Medina Station, was still rattling empty compared to the overcrowded stations, her crew of hundreds bouncing around in her spacious interior like scattered particles. 

The drum's ponderous spin swirled the brandy in the glasses, a slow but steady rotation.

"Knowing you," Camina said, tilting her glass to watch the brandy move with it, "you spend the last half hour writing midnight toast in quarters."

Klaes laughed softly. "I like to think I'm more spontaneous than that."

This made her huff out something that was, if not a laugh and not even especially amused, then the closest thing he had yet heard from her. "And be caught without silver words on your tongue? You?" She made a rude hand gesture with the hand not holding the glass.

"Practice, Camina," he told her solemnly. "Silver words at push of button."

She blew out a breath. Her mouth was a serious line again, but he could still see a hint of that smile wanting to escape. It seemed that he had, after all, figured out how to make her laugh, and he liked that, even if it was at his expense. 

"What we drink to?" she said. "Fred Johnson and Anderson Dawes?"

He made a scoffing noise.

"What, then?" All hints of humor gone now from her lips. "Health and long life of bossmang?"

"I don't want your job, Camina."

The sound she made was quizzically skeptical more than disgusted. "When did you decide this—when I break my back for save your life, or when you hunt me all over my own ship like tumang stowaway?"

"Both of those. You were right," he said, "and I was not. You are a good captain, Camina." 

He hadn't said it before. Not put it out in the open like that. He wasn't sure how to read the look she gave him.

Backing off slightly from that level of emotional honesty, he added, "Or perhaps it is just, I feel safer for to have you as my captain. Have you as first officer, I will always need to watch my back. Sasa ke?"

"Mmm. That I believe."

But the trace of a smile sketched the corner of her mouth again. He checked the time, and held up his glass. 

"Not Dawes," he said, "and not Johnson, and not you and not me. To this station, to _us,_ to Beltalowda and future for us on both sides of the ring. A better tomorrow for us."

"To Beltalowda," Camina echoed quietly. "And the future."

They drank, the brandy a warm burn.

"Not bad," he said, and refilled their glasses. "You know, the inners think it is good luck to kiss the person you are with at midnight of the new year."

She gave him a look.

"Worth a try," he said, and it was more than half a laugh, this time, that she gave him—silent, but a laugh nonetheless.


End file.
